Now It's Over
by LyraLollygagger
Summary: "Time suddenly resumes, and this sorry excuse for a man has the audacity to speak to me. Before he can even finish the sentence I pull the trigger, and I realize I've had the gun aimed for a kill shot all along." My take on a different Season 4 finale. What if Rita's phone call never went to voicemail?


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dexter, neither do I want to. I only own the assembly of words you're about to read.

 **Warnings:** Violence, non-graphic nudity and death. Spoilers for the Season 4 finale and anything after.

 **AN:** I still can't believe I watched Dexter. I had a great desire to take a shower after every episode, but I just couldn't help but keeping watching until I finished all eight seasons. The show was so well done, and the characters and their stories completely broke my heart.

I know we all have different ideas about what we could change in Dexter if we could. One such moment that I have some ideas about is Rita's death at the end of Season 4. I could argue both for and against the decision of the show to kill her off, but I'm not trying to do anything like that here. I'm just playing "What if?" and I hope that you'll play with me too.

I hope it's pretty obvious, but the story begins in Episode 4.12 "The Getaway" right after Debra and Dexter have their little talk about Brian Moser while still at Trinity's house. In my story, Dexter never gets a chance to notice the broken windshield in the garage. It is also told from Dexter's POV.

* * *

Debra and I have just finished talking when Quinn calls her into Arthur Mitchell's house. It's a bit surreal. My sister has discovered one of my many secrets: that Brian Moser – the Ice Truck Killer – was my biological brother. It's because of me that she ever met his alias 'Rudy Cooper' in the first place, and possibly suspects this fact herself, but still insists that I bring nothing but good things into her life. In fact, she loves me. The rest of my family does too, and I'm thankful; so very thankful. I'm finally realizing that, through their love, there may be hope for me yet: I don't have to end up like Arthur Mitchell in the end. Maybe I _can_ change.

I stand, and as I put my hands in my pockets I suddenly feel my cell phone vibrating. It's Rita. She and Harrison should be at the airport by now. "Hey, you."

 _"Hey, Sweetie."_

"Why aren't you on a plane?"

I heard her sigh through the phone. _"I'm a dope. I was in such a rush to get Harrison organized I forgot my I.D. for the plane, so I'm zooming home for it. Maybe I'll be on a later puddle jumper, but we'll still be there waiting for you."  
_  
Uneasiness sets in as I realize what she's trying to tell me, and my brain automatically translates: _my family is no longer safe_. They're not boarding a plane headed to The Keys, they're still in Miami, headed home. Arthur Mitchell may be trying to leave the country, but what's to keep him from taking a detour by my house in an attempt to retaliate against me like he threatened? _My family is in danger...  
_  
I try to think fast on my feet. "Hey, why don't I just swing by the house and look instead? You have your hands full with Harrison, and I can just run it to the airport really quick once I find it."

 _"Dexter, that's sweet and all, but I'll be at the house in about 10 minutes anyway. Besides, I thought you had some work things you were trying to finish up before you left later tonight?"  
_  
"Crime scene," I reply, hoping the desperation I feel isn't in my voice. "I can be there in 15 minutes. I'll help you look then take you both back to the airport myself." More like 20 minutes, but I'm sure I could make it in fifteen or less. I say goodbye to Rita and head towards my car.

I thought my family would be safe if they were out of the way, but now I know that they will never truly be safe until Trinity is dead, once and for all. I usually enjoy my kills, but this one will be different, more of a necessity. My family's safety matters more to me. I _have_ to protect them from Arthur. I _have_ to make sure Rita and Harrison make it onto a plane, even if I have to drive them there myself. Then, I _have_ to kill Trinity. That's the only way I know to protect them, once and for all.

 _Is this what panic feels like?  
_

* * *

I pull up to the house 13 minutes later, grateful to not be arrested again for reckless driving after breaking as many laws as I did to get here so quickly. If Rita is already here then she hasn't been here for long, barely a few minutes. Maybe I'm in time after all.

A vintage Ford Mustang, which looks suspiciously like Jonah Mitchell's car except with a different paint job, sits across the street. It could very well be Arthur's vehicle, put back together and repainted since Thanksgiving Day, but I don't know that for sure. Still, I can't take that chance. If it is his car, he could have been here lying in wait to see who would come to the door of the Morgan residence. _He could already be inside, with Rita and Harrison...  
_  
I quickly place the car gear in park and exit my vehicle. I don't want to spook Mitchell if he's truly in there, or Rita if he's not, so I quietly sneak around to the backyard and unlock the shed. Ever since Cody fell through the roof on Thanksgiving Day I now keep the tools of my Darker Trade in a locked storage container away from the house. The shed is still mine, and I still keep a few non-serial killer things in here incase Rita ever did decide to look. One such item is an old hunting pistol of Harry's. Guns aren't normally my style – too messy – but Trinity is too dangerous for me to get close enough with one of my knives. Not with him possibly being this close to my family.

I enter the house, gun concealed until I'm sure. "Rita?" I call out. Nothing. I know that she's here because I can hear Harrison, and he's starting to cry from somewhere in the house, but her lack of an answer tells me immediately that I'm right and that something is horribly wrong. I draw the gun, holding it down and ready, and start to move further into the house when I hear a different set of crying coming from the bathroom. I know it's her, and my highly tuned Darker sense tells me that Trinity is in there with her, and I already know that somebody is about to die in this house. _Arthur Mitchell is going to die...  
_  
I slowly enter the bathroom and bring my gun up, pointing it at him immediately, and time seems to freeze. Arthur Mitchell is in the bathtub _with my wife_ , knife to her throat. Apparently they had both heard me call for her because he's waiting for me, trying to keep her quiet. He sees me, but all I see is red, Blood Red, because that's _my wife_ in the tub with him _with a knife to her throat_.

Rita sees me, and her tear filled eyes lock onto mine, and she sobs. Her eyes say she's scared, and they plead with me to help her. Her mouth moves ever so slightly, but I can't hear what she's saying. She's too emotional and trying not to spook her would-be killer, but I understand her. _"Dexter… Please..."  
_  
I'm not sure what I should be feeling in this moment, but perhaps I am furious. Furious at myself for letting my mess with Trinity extend this far. Furious at Arthur Mitchell for exposing my wife to another tiny portion of my hidden world (she's seen enough lately), exposing her to my Dark Passenger, exposing her to what I'm about to do...

Time suddenly resumes, and this sorry excuse for a man has the _audacity_ to speak to me...

"It's already over. Say goodbye to your wife, Dexter Mor-"

...and before he can even finish the sentence I pull the trigger, and I realize I've had the gun aimed for a kill shot all along. Arthur's dead body jerks backwards with the bullet, blood and brain matter flying onto the wall behind him and around the tub.

 _Now it's over.  
_  
Rita shrieks, and blood lands on her as well, spatters in her hair. She sits up, her eyes wide in horror, and she's breathing fast and heavy. I realize she's hyperventilating and in danger of going into shock, so I carefully place the gun on the bathroom counter and tenderly reach out for her. "Rita," I try, but I'm not sure she's hearing me yet. I place one hand on her bare arm, the other on the side of her face, trying to get her attention. "Rita, can you hear me?" She then looks at me, and she completely breaks down, sobbing.

 _"Dexter..."  
_  
"It's gonna be okay-"

"Get me out of here." She tries moving but she's sluggish and trembling, yet desperate to get out of the naked embrace of her dead tormentor.

I gently pull her up with me to stand and guide her to step over the edge of the tub. She clings to me, preferring my embrace to Trinity's. She doesn't know it, but she's swapping one serial killer for another. Irony often strikes me in the worst of moments.

I do my best to quickly check her over, making sure she's truly _physically_ alright, but all I find is what will likely be bruising from what must've been her struggling against him, and a small cut on her chin from where his knife lightly nicked her when I shot him. I turn to get a robe for her because she's standing there, exposed and still sobbing. I know how long it took her to heal after what happened with Paul, and I can't help but wonder how this will affect her now. I wrap the robe around her dripping wet body.

I want nothing more than to comfort my tormented wife, but now that she's no longer in danger my priorities need to shift for a few minutes. Our bathroom is a crime scene now, and we need to move out of the room to preserve it for forensics. I support her as we walk through the house into the living room where Harrison lays crying, still strapped into his carrier.

I have to call the police for this one. I'll have to work out how to explain certain parts of the story to them if they ask (and they will because I've just killed a man), but the truth should work for the most part. If I play the part of the concerned and shell shocked husband who just had to shoot and kill the man who was about to murder his wife, maybe that'll buy me some more time to think all the details through.

My family doesn't deserve to be put through this kind of trauma…

 _What have I done?  
_  
My hand shakes as I pick up the landline and dial the numbers _9-1-1_.

* * *

END (for now)

 **AN:** I haven't fully made up my mind whether to write more chapters or not, but for now I'm leaning towards not. Anything beyond this point delves into Season 5 territory, which I do have ideas on how to make it all work, but the perfectionist in me is too scared to actually flesh it all out and make it happen. So, for now at least, think of it as ending here.


End file.
